Katherine Moves to Kansas, page 3
“Ms. Newair, the difference between these women is very small,” he confessed to the matchmaker, “mathematically, that is.”
“Are you certain about that, Mr. Barbens? There are more differences in these two women than just their hair and eye color; look deeper,” she cautioned him.
“Well, how do I do this? It’s not like they both live in Kansas, and I’m going to show up to take them to the Sunday social,” he replied, giving Coraline a stern look.
“Love, romance, and life always start simply. I suggest you do the same and write them both to see which one speaks to your soul,” she told him.
The two women on screen were both dark haired, but one with brown eyes, the other with blue eyes. He’d never really paid much attention to eye or hair color; he was looking at the matching percentiles. Adriano had surmised the gaps would be significant, reducing his need to choose or go a courting in cyberspace with two women.
“Maybe, I’ll start with a handwritten letter first,” he said, asking for pen and paper. He would send the same letter to both women and go from there. He had taken a lot of gambles in life, and two gambles had made him a wealthy man. There was no need for him to press his luck, but this approach was the right one; he could feel it.
Dear Patricia,
I wish I were a man of flower-laden words laced with sensual innuendos, outlining our potential life together as man and wife. My life in Kansas is simple, uncomplicated, and most days, fairly uneventful. My gut instinct is that you will change those things should this work out between us. I’m not one for a great deal of unnecessary words, but feel free to reach out and open a dialogue.
Sincerely,
Adriano Gael Barbens
Coraline sat quietly observing yet saying nothing as he composed the second letter to Katy Mae Montgomery. He folded each letter with careful precision, slipping each into an envelope. From his wallet he removed a small book of stamps, carefully affixed postage to each, and added his return address.
“Ms. Newair are the addresses on the screen correct?” he asked, leaning forwarded and noticing the address of Katherine in Tennessee. “Hmm, odd coincidence. I met a woman this morning, and she and her mother were from Tennessee. She was kind of scary, mountain folk, running moonshine stills, kind of scary.”
“What did you think of her?”
“Who the scary mountain woman who threatened to gut me to allow the refuse of the city to dine on my entrails? The same woman who threatened to sew up all the holes in my body so I would bloat with gas from I can only assume is my own excrement, which, I might add, she said, she’d enjoy watching,” Adriano stated, surprised he’d said so much to the matchmaker.
Coraline offered him a smile. “I can imagine the man who gets her as a wife will never be bored or live an uneventful life,” she added.
“No, that one would probably screw you until your toes curled, then go squirrel hunting to make a stew with honey buttered biscuits for supper,” he said quickly, almost finding himself laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m not quite myself today. Please forgive me. I know I’m not myself because I flirted with that woman. I don’t flirt.”
“So, this random woman you flirted with is the same imaginative creature you’re now envisioning cooking your dinner after a round of passionate baby-making?”
Adriano turned quickly, going back to the screen. Babies. He needed to make babies and quickly. The woman he married had to be willing to get started making a family right after the honeymoon or even on the honeymoon. Aunt Sue was slowing down, and he needed to give her a grandchild.
“Uhmm...Ms. Newair, my new situation has left me in a predicament where I find I need to start a family right away. Does it say in these profiles if the women are ready to be mothers in the first year of marriage?”
Coraline, still seated behind her desk, typed on a couple of keys, clicked the mouse, and stared at the image on screen. She tried not to hide her amusement as she peered over the monitor.
“Patricia Hodges, the one with the blue eyes, would like to be married for at least three years before the arrival of the first child,” she explained. “Katherine wants to have children right away.”
Adriano felt a sense of relief. He lifted the envelope made out to Patricia, carefully removed the stamp, placed it back in the stamp holder in his wallet and ripped up the letter. The four possible had been narrowed to one. Adriano felt a sense of relief. His perfect match was on the screen, matching him at 97.8%, she wanted children right away, and she was willing to relocate to where he lived.
One Katherine Montgomery from Tennessee. His skin prickled at the idea of meeting her in person, proposing, and preparing for a honeymoon somewhere warm and exotic. “White sandy beaches,” he said aloud.
“Puerto Rico,” Coraline said. “Or the US Virgin Islands or even St. Thomas,” she suggested. “All of those locations have no passport requirements since they are provinces of the US.”
“Hmm,” he mumbled, leaning back in the seat and looking at the photo of the woman again. For the oddest reason, the picture didn’t feel right. The image on screen didn’t feel as if it matched the woman in the profile. A sudden burst of energy shot through him as he thought of the old carriage house on the property. He could make that their home to start with so they could have some privacy and be out of Aunt Sue’s way. He could also walk around butt damned naked in the carriage house while his wife made googly eyes at him after he’d satisfied her like no man ever could.
The expression on his face made Coraline smile. “You have a devious mind behind those dark eyes, Mr. Barbens.”
“If only you knew the half,” he said, pulling out his phone to search for honeymoon locations. Suddenly, he felt optimistic.
Three weeks had passed since Adriano sent the letter to Katherine. Three whole weeks of feeling like a loser rejected by a woman he’d paid ten grand to find and sent a letter, hoping for a chance to make her a mother. When he rehashed it in his mind in that manner, he wasn’t surprised there was no response.
“Who am I kidding? I didn’t place any of my personality in the letter. It was dry, about as dry as I feel right now,” he said, thumbing through the mail and realizing the return address, and the address in the system he used, was for the farm. He didn’t use the mailing address of his home in Kansas City, Kansas. “Shit, shit, and shit!”
He bounded to his feet, grabbed his keys, and made a beeline for the elevator. He called out to his assistant that he was leaving for the day as the elevator doors closed and he ran out the building on basement floor when the shaft reached bottom. The powerful engine of the sleek black Audi roared to life, and he burned rubber exiting the parking garage and headed for the farm. Traffic was light for the mid-morning as he took the 1-70 West bound towards Borner-Loring, exiting onto Highway 73 all the way into Lansing until he reached Main Street in Leavenworth. The next stop was the farm.
Although he still had keys to the home, he would ring the doorbell to alert Aunt Sue versus letting himself in and running the risk of having a hole blown through the center of his body from the Remington 780 she kept by her side. The gray hair appeared first as she peered through the lace curtains, waved at him, and opened the door. As per her normal greeting, she offered him a smile and patted his hands, which was as close as they’d come in the many years to showing physical affection. He cherished the feel of her warm hands surrounding his calloused palms as he received the customary three pats to the back of his hand.
Aunt Sue shuffled to the kitchen, talking of coffee, butter prices, and the need for a decent pound cake, as she looked over her shoulder, “Land sakes. boy, what are you doing here on a weekday? You didn’t get fired, did you?”
“No Ma’am, I’m looking for a piece of mail that may have come to the farm for me,” he said, trying to sound calm.
“There are a few pieces over there on the credenza,” she said pointing at the small pile of magazines and other items of mail which came to the farm.
“Thank you,” he said and picked up the pile. He sorted through each slip of mail with focused eyes, giving no reaction as he looked at each piece with indifference. Fourth from the bottom was a letter postmarked from Tennessee. It had arrived last week. “Excuse me one moment, Aunt Sue; that forty-minute drive is hard on a bladder.”
It was a lie, but a small one he hoped she’d forgive. Aunt Sue had a way about her that read body language and incremental facial expressions better than any lie detection machine. If the letter was one of rejection, the last thing he needed for Aunt Sue to see was more sadness in his eyes. He’d spent much of his lifetime sparing her his pain, no matter how great or how deep the wound.
Adriano bolted the door out of habit of growing up in a house with so many kids, versus being afraid of Aunt Sue walking in on him. He lowered the lid on the commode and took a seat. His hands shook a bit as he lifted the envelope and sniffed it for hints of perfume. There was no scent to the letter, which for a moment caused him a bit of disappointment. He ripped the plain white mailer open and read it several times and then sat staring at the door. The letter wasn’t what he had expected and he had to read it at least five more times to make sure his eyes weren’t lying to his brain.
Hey there Farm Boy!
I wish you were a man of flower laden words. I could stand a bit of sensual with or without innuendo.
When we talk about simple lives, I think I may have the market cornered as a sixth grade Social Studies teacher to a group of children convinced the government is spying on their parents. After I mentioned I went to New York to take a package for a friend, it took several days to persuade the children that I wasn’t an undercover agent for the C.I.A. masquerading as a teacher. One child was completely sold on the idea that I, as their teacher, had been replaced with a clone.
Between you, me, and the polecat that keeps spraying the sugar maple tree in Pap’s back yard, we don’t need a lot of words to let you know that I’m ready to get the heck off this mountain. I don’t like a lot of fancy words on paper; I prefer action. I sure as shineola don’t like talking on the phone, or video chatting with a fake background to a close up of a face. I prefer to look a man in the eye to understand his intentions.
I looked you in the eye at the hotel, and you said I could have your name. I can only take it if my Pa likes you and my brothers don’t skin you alive. If you ain’t scared, book a flight to Atlanta, rent a car and drive to Harbuck, Tennessee. Look for the big communications array that says Montgomery. I’ll meet you there. We’ll have a drink, talk to my family, and you ask Pa for my hand. If he says yes, then I want to a honeymoon with white sandy beaches and crystal blue waters where I can look through the water and see the pink of my toenail polish.
You give me that, and we can work on making you a Daddy.
Also, Katherine is the fancy name I give myself when I’m trying to impress folks. My Ma named me Katy Mae. It’s written as two words but pronounced as one. Seems to me like you can’t get no simpler than that in this life or any other.
Here’s my number; call me to let me know when you’re coming to get our life started.
Talk to you soon,
Hopeful in Harbuck,
Katherine.
After blinking several more times, he finally exhaled and said the only thing that could come to mind, “Holy shit!”
He had no idea where Harbuck, Tennessee was or how to get there from Kansas City, Kansas, even though she put specific directions in the letter. He read the letter again, this time focusing on her instructions on how to get to where she lived. He logged into a travel site to check flights to Atlanta. Finding on he liked, he added it to the cart, waiting to speak with her to confirm before solidifying the booking. Today was Tuesday and he could be there on Friday in time for dinner if all went well. Excited, he used his phone to dial the number and he nearly hung up, thinking she more than likely was in class.
“Hello,” she said into the line.
“Katherine...it’s me, Adriano. I can be there Friday evening by dinner time, if you’d like,” he said in his calmest voice.
“Friday by supper, and you’re coming to ask my Pa for my hand in marriage?”
“If we hit it off,” he told her. “You do know that if I ask and you consent, that I want to have children in the first year.”
“Okay, but will you be a good father to these kids you’re so anxious to have?” Katy Mae asked.
“Ask me that again on Friday when I arrive and you can look me in the eyes,” he told her. “Per your instructions, I’m flying into Atlanta, renting a car, and driving up. I’ll arrive in Atlanta by 3:30 and should be at your door by six of all goes well.”
“All will be well, Adriano,” she said.
“My friends and family call me Gael, Katherine.”
“My friends and family call me Katy Mae,” she replied, feeling her cheeks warm. In the background, a loud bell sounded.
“Seems as if I may have been saved by the bell,” he told her, feeling cheeky and bold.
“That bell ain’t saving you from nothing, and most of all, it sure as duck fat ain’t gonna save you from me,” Katy Mae said. “Also, if you tell my brothers or Cousin Jethro to call you Gael, they’re gonna use you for target practice. You’ve been warned; see you Friday.”
“I’ll be there,” he said softly. “Have a good week.”
“You as well,” Katy Mae said and terminated the call. Her giddiness at the interaction would have to wait. Today, the cafeteria had served cabbage and black-eyed peas to the students for lunch. She needed to open every window in her classroom to stave off the afternoon concert orchestrated by farting butts of pimply faced tweens hell bent on making her miserable.
Katy Mae Montgomery had a man to impress and she knew exactly how to make the magic happen starting with her famous Moonshine Margaritas. In hindsight, things would have, and could have, gone much more smoothly. If they had, it would be a different story versus the one they would later share with friends and family.
Chapter 3 – On the Move
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Katy Mae’s old Ford rattled up the mountainside to her brother Beau’s home. Her sister-in-law Khloe was expecting her, and Katy Mae wanted to talk about the chance she’d taken in New York. In the three weeks since Katy May had returned, Khloe, as the county’s nurse practitioner, had worked a busy schedule. Her brother Beau had also managed to secure a deal with a larger satellite company, boosting the signal of his current communication company, but he had kept the name of the original business, Montgomery Communication. Where they lived in the Tennessee mountains, a name was everything. The Montgomery name stood for something and it was a name you could count on. Today, Katy Mae was counting on Khloe being a listening ear.
“Hey girl, I have margaritas ready, along with nachos, complete with jalapenos and Cotija cheese and no big brother to get in the way of our girl time,” Khloe said, opening the front door. “Katy Mae, that car sounds as if it’s about to die at any moment. I don’t know how many times Pa has fixed that thing since I’ve been here. It’s time to bite the bullet and get another vehicle.”
Katy Mae’s cheeks warmed as she looked at Khloe. “I’m hoping my new husband buys me one.”
“Your new what?”
“You heard me,” Katy Mae said, tossing a part of the thick mane of hair, accepting the drink. “I haven’t seen you since you sent me on that bogus errand to take that fancy woman a package you could have sent in the mail.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and what is his name, and when is he coming here?”
“You knew, didn’t you - you sideways walking polecat!”
“What the hell is a polecat, and should I be offended, because I don’t know what that is or if it’s supposed to walk sideways?” Khloe asked, blowing off the insult
“A polecat is a wild ferret that stinks up the place like a skunk when it’s threatened,” Katy Mae explained. “There’s a family of them that live up behind Pa’s cabin and he goes back there and mixes shine and sugar in the watering hole they use, and them drunk critters walk sideways trying to get back home. I think now there are three generations of them that are alcoholics. That shine is ingrained in their polecat DNA.”
Khloe didn’t react. Since her marriage to Beau, her Tennessee Mountain Man, she’d learn to not react to much of what her sister or brother-in-law had to say. She was more interested in the man Katy Mae planned to make her mister. Khloe sipped at the drink before plating chips smattered with lettuce, chunks of tomatoes, and diced onions. Suddenly a thought hit her. If Katy Mae got married, it would be the end of girlfriend Sundays, margarita Tuesdays, Thursday wine downs, and Sangria Saturdays. The more she thought about it, the polecats weren’t the only budding alcoholics hanging around a Montgomery cabin.
“Katy Mae, have you talked to him yet? I know when I first heard Beau’s voice, my body got all tingly,” Khloe said, taking a seat and wiggling her bottom in the chair.
“That is just plain nasty,” Katy Mae said with a scowl. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what, make love to your brother?”
“Yes, he is big as hell. I sincerely can’t envision how you manage to do it at all,” she scoffed. “You can’t be on the bottom or he’d crush your hip bones. Then the thought of you on top riding that mountain of a man makes me vomit a little in my mouth. Oh gosh dang it, now I have a visual. Eww. Yuck. Kill me. Make the dirty images stop.”
Khloe laughed as Katy Mae picked up her cactus shaped margarita glass, inserted the straw, and inhaled the contents. She reached for the pitcher, pouring herself another. “This tequila ain’t worth two flies on the ass of a horse,” she told Khloe, sucking down a second one then complaining of an immediate brain freeze. “What we need is a couple drops of my good stuff.”
“Your good stuff can take the corrosion off a car battery,” Khloe cautioned. “Seriously, did you make a match, and if so, who, what happened, how does he look, can he kiss? Give me the deets.”
